


I Cut My Wings Off: A Lucifer TV fanfiction

by Anna_Erishkigal



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angels, F/M, Fallen Angels, Light Angst, Paranormal, Romantic Comedy, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, lucifer-tv-series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:43:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Erishkigal/pseuds/Anna_Erishkigal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irritating, arrogant, and full of himself, Chloe goes to Lucifer Morningstar's apartment to see if he made good on his promise to set up a meeting, but what she finds there only leaves her with more questions than answers. A one-shot drabble (at least for now).</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Cut My Wings Off: A Lucifer TV fanfiction

This is just a little one-off drabble expanding upon a scene that caught my fancy in the television series _Lucifer._ Maybe I'll expand upon it, maybe not? I could have a blast writing lots of UST-y subtext between the lines of the script 3:-)

Okay, the usual disclaimers. FOX et al (Neil Gaiman, Vertigo/DC Comics & Mike Careyown, etc) own the rights to the characters and situations as depicted in the television series Lucifer. They don't _own_ Lucifer, i.e., 'Oh _Luciferi,_ star of the morning…' as blathered in Isaiah 14:12. Although who knows? With big-media gobbling everything up, maybe they _do_ own _Luciferi,_ or more accurately, maybe _Luciferi_ owns them?  Hah!  I write this for my own pleasure and amusement and derive no money for it.

 

X

 

Chloe Decker stepped out of the elevator into the Lux nightclub executive suite which Lucifer Morningstar called his home. She shoved one hand into her jeans pocket, her brows knit together into a skeptical expression as she scanned the dimly lit décor.

"Ah, hello?" She stepped into the devil's lair. "Ah, Lucifer?"

The elevator door shut behind her with a _whoosh_ reminiscent of the closing of some great gate, leaving her standing in the dark. A warning chill rippled down her spine, or perhaps it was excitement? Around Lucifer, it was often difficult to tell. The only illumination came from the wall behind the sleek, mahogany bar, travertine marble, backlit to highlight dozens of colorful bottles artfully arranged to give the illusion the bar existed inside an ancient Egyptian temple. That, and the dancing golden light from a fireplace on the opposite side of the room.

An earthy jazz singer warbled seductively on the stereo.

"I'll be out in a moment!" Lucifer called from deep within his lair. "I'm just getting ready!"

His voice rippled through her, mischievous and warm. Beneath his British accent, she could detect a second, much older accent, but she hadn't been able to track his origins any further than the five years since he'd appeared in Los Angeles.

She turned her gaze away from the wall of temptations and stepped carefully toward the fireplace, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness in between. She barely avoided smashing her kneecap into the bench of a full-sized Steinway, glistening and black, its ivory keys illuminated by the wall of liquor. She'd heard Lucifer play the piano downstairs in the nightclub, tauntingly, seductively, his long fingers caressing the keys as though the Steinway was a long-lost lover. The entire apartment smelled of polished wood, the finest brandy, ancient money, and another scent she couldn't quite place? Brimstone?

No. She was being silly. Ever since she'd gotten shot, his talk about being the devil had begun to nip deviously at her subconscious. _Had_ he taken six bullets for her? Or had it been her own life, flashing before her eyes? The scent was probably a joint, or some other substance she didn't want to know about so she wouldn't have to arrest him.

"Hey, ah?" She stepped cautiously past a boxy, contemporary orange leather couch which probably cost more than an entire year's salary with the city. "Did you do what I told you to do and call Carver about the player's club?"

"Make yourself a drink, detective!" his disembodied voice called from another room.

"No." Chloe raised one finger and shook it, the same way she did when scolding Trixie. "No more drinks. No more blurred lines. No more breaking into my house or trying to sleep with me." She whirled, waiting for him to just _appear_ next to her and send her heart racing. "Look. This is a professional relationship. I'm a police officer, and you…"

A six-foot-three vision of perfection _appeared_ out of the shadows like a fine, Grecian statue. Golden-bronze skin glistened in the firelight while her senses swam from a heady dose of testosterone. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief above an arrogant grin. Beneath it, his bare, muscular chest and broad shoulders tapered down over his long, lean six-pack abs to…

"…huh..." Surprise stole her breath as her eyes reached his narrow hips and kept on going. She clamped her hand over her mouth. "…are naked."

_Breathe!_

She ordered herself _not_ to stare at his manly whatnots. But her hands betrayed her as they moved subconsciously apart to take measure of what had to be the _largest…_

She leaned forward, her mouth wide open with disbelief. With a package like that, no _wonder_ women threw themselves at the self-declared Devil of L.A.

Warmth tingled deep within her womb, pooling between her legs and forcing her to press her knees together. She clutched her hands to her chest and turned away to deny him the satisfaction of watching her nipples harden beneath her thin bra.

"Ohh…" she squeaked.

Lucifer's smile grew broader, exposing straight teeth in a Cheshire-cat like grin.

"Speaking of my surprise visit yesterday, I decided a turnabout was fair play. You know, a tit-for-tat sort of thing."

"This is beyond inappropriate," Chloe stuttered.

"And brave, wouldn't you say? Number three on the CKC list." He flipped his hands down to point at his own crotch. "Take risks."

Chloe stepped over to the couch and grabbed the brown throw he had draped artfully across the leather. She glanced back at him and huffed.

"Okay. Just put some frickin' clothes on." She stepped toward him, her face averted so he wouldn't see her ogle him.

"Alright. Seriously, darling, are you well?" He wrapped the brown throw around his waist and strutted out from behind the piano like a peacock displaying its plumage. "The berries are ripe and ready to be harvested."

Chloe turned her back to him and crossed her arms, not sure whether she should run, or run into his arms, but she could not help but peek over her shoulder. Every time he got near her, it felt as though he could see inside her mind, but she'd learned the hard way that slick talk in Hollywood always led to exploitation, not fondest dreams.

"I mean, look at me?" Lucifer spoke behind her. He held out his arms as though he was an exhibition, up for auction to the highest bidder. "Huh?"

He raised one dark eyebrow as he slowly turned around.

Chloe drank in his perfectly rounded butt-cheeks, firm and muscular, up his sleek, muscled back, to a pair of large, curved scars which sat between his shoulder blades. Her lust ran cold as she took in the horrific, knotted scars which looked like pair of tiny angel wings. Lucifer finished turning to face her, naked.

"Now you can't argue with that," Lucifer waggled his eyebrows as he turned back to face her. "Can you?"

Chloe clutched her stomach, her hand shaking as she stepped toward him and pointed at his back. Her voice warbled.

"What happened…" she stepped toward him, "to…" She touched her _own_ back, and then reached for his golden skin, her expression filled with pity. "Oh, my god."

Lucifer took a step back, his grin disappearing. He smiled again almost instantly, but this time his smile looked forced.

"Uh, oh?" In his face, vulnerability warred with anger. "Well, yes. I suppose it _is_ his fault."

"Who's fault?" Chloe said.

"My father," Lucifer said.

She stared up at him, the man who claimed to be the devil. Behind his smile, his black eyes wore the same wounded look Trixie often wore whenever she'd gotten bullied, but told her everything was fine.

"Your dad did that to you?" she asked.

His smile faded completely.

"Yea—"

He looked away.

"N—no, no." His smile came back, but this time it was stripped of his cocky edge. "That's where I cut my wings off."

"Huh?" She stepped toward him. "What?"

She scrutinized his body language, his facial expressions, the way he stepped back, now threatened, and the way his hand moved subconsciously to protect his heart. Her cop's instincts, her instincts as a mother, both screamed that Lucifer was lying. Not about his wings, though sometimes she wondered if he actually _believed_ his claims to be the devil, but that perhaps he'd made up his whole, sordid persona to bolster his self-esteem after receiving horrific abuse from his father? She'd handled enough domestic cases to tell when a child was lying to cover up for a parent.

"Well I didn't," Lucifer said, his expression defensive. "Maze did. I told her to."

"Mmm, no?" Chloe shook her head. "Seriously." She touched his shoulder, pulled him toward her to examine the scars more closely. "What is this?" His skin radiated warmth and heat as she touched the horrific scars, wider and longer than her hand.

Emotion, images, flashed into her mind.

_"Father, no!" Lucifer shouted. "Don't hurt them!"_

_Winged men herded a group of sobbing women and children into a great hall. Behind them, two hundred angels were dragged in wearing chains and, one by one were forced to kneel as the guards drove spikes through the prisoner's wings into the floor. One by one, the children were separated and dragged, shrieking, away from their sobbing mothers. Lucifer pulled her closer and wrapped a sable wing around her as a man wearing a fringed tunic towered over them, wielding a bolt of lightning like a sword._

_"You dare defy me?" The bearded man jabbed a finger at her. "For this?"_

_A sense of energy flowed around her, filled her, burned the inside of her nostrils. Chloe trembled, filled with a sensation of dread._

_"You ask too much of them, father," Lucifer said. "They don't have anything more to give you."_

_"You were supposed to hold their -territory- for me," the bearded man roared. "Not lay down with them and begat children upon them!"_

Lucifer whirled, his eyes black with torment. He grabbed Chloe's wrist before she could touch his scars a second time.

"Don't?" He shook his head. "Please?" His voice lilted upward, as though on the verge of tears.

In his eyes, she saw the same anguish she'd seen in her imagination where, just for a moment, it had felt as though _she_ had been the woman who'd sought shelter in his magnificent, sable wings. It seemed as though she looked at an entirely different man, still arrogant, yes. But breathtaking in his magnificence.

"Okay," she said breathlessly. She nodded. Whatever his father had done to him, Lucifer's psyche had never healed.

Lucifer let go of her wrist and stepped back.

"I should get dressed." He turned and hurried away before she could ask any more questions. "Otherwise we'll miss the party."

He disappeared through a doorway, into another room. Chloe crossed her arms, her mind still reeling.

_What happened, Lucifer? What did the bastard -do- to you?_

Her hand slid down to touch her hip, the reassuring feel of her service weapon. Whatever had happened when Lucifer was younger, she had a job to do. A job necessitated she work with him to solve a young woman's disappearance _._

 


End file.
